


Quarantine

by Spockzilla



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz doesn’t realize Simon likes Baz, Baz is faking, Baz is thirsty, Baz pov, Baz’s vampire lisp, Drinking Games, Gay Fear, Gay Panic, Kissing, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Oh my god they were quarantined, One-Shot, Quarantine, Simon can’t lie, Simon doesn’t realize that Simon likes Baz, Simon guzzles, Simon is unintentionally a tease, Veritas is Latin for truth, bottle episode, truth virus, vampire stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spockzilla/pseuds/Spockzilla
Summary: No one knows how it got to Watford. We’ve been on lockdown for a month, yet the Veritas Virus somehow made it here anyways.The virus isn’t really a health hazard. But it is a hazard. Anyone who is infected can only speak truths for a few days. You can choose not to talk, but if you’re not diligent, it’s easy to let things slip.Now everyone is quarantined to their dorm rooms. And because I’m a vampire and can’t contract it, I have to pretend I have it due to being in close quarters with Snow.I don’t think I can survive being trapped in a room with Snow.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 27
Kudos: 329





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> I took a break from my other fics to work on this. Sorry! I will get back to finishing the other ones. I just wanted to work on something that felt less important for a while.

No one knows how it got to Watford. We’ve been on lockdown for a month, yet the Veritas Virus somehow made it here anyways. 

The virus isn’t really a health hazard. But it is a hazard. Anyone who is infected can only speak truths for a few days. You can choose not to talk, but if you’re not diligent, it’s easy to let things slip. 

Half the school has it, and it’s been ridiculous. The students have been getting into fights. (Apparently white lies are vital to living peacefully). There’s been confessions of love and hate. One girl admitted to stealing absurd quantities of forks from the dining hall. 

Snow and his friends all caught it. Agatha admitted she didn’t love him anymore and they have since broken up. 

Now everyone is quarantined to their dorm rooms. Food is brought to us three times a day. And because I’m a vampire and can’t contract it, I have to pretend I have it due to being in close quarters with Snow. 

“Are you a vampire?” Snow asks, looking up from the book he’s obviously not been reading for the last thirty minutes. 

“The Mage ordered everyone not to ask probing questions,” I remind him, not taking my eyes off my laptop.

“You’re dodging the question,” he says accusingly. 

Luckily it didn’t occur to the numpty that vampires would have immunity, so I look him in the eyes and say, “I’m not a vampire.”

He looks disappointed and asks, “Then why do you always sneak off at night?”

“Why don’t you ask Wellbelove?”

He slams his book shut and growls at me. I smirk and go back to looking at my laptop. 

“Is that seriously what you’ve been doing?” he asks, trying and failing to sound menacing because his voice cracked near the end. 

I would just say nothing and let him make of that what he will. But if he starts crying, I can’t leave, and I don’t think I could bear watching him cry. Making him cry is simple enough, but watching him do it… It hurts to see. 

I sigh and say, “No.”

I glance at him and see him nod and relax.

“Don’t you have an essay to write?” I remind him. 

“Yeah, but we’ve been stuck here since last night! I’m bored. Aren’t you bored?”

“It hasn’t even been a full day and you’re already going stir-crazy?” I ask. 

“Yes. Are you seriously not bored?” 

I almost say no. But if I’m going to keep up the ruse of being sick, I have to sound like I’m being more honest than usual. If I sound exactly the same he might get suspicious. 

“Fine. Yes, I’m a bit bored,” I say. 

When he doesn’t say anything, I turn to give him a bored look. 

“Maybe we should do something,” he suggests tentatively. 

I raise my eyebrow and say, “Maybe you should write your essay.”

“We’re going to be stuck together for days or maybe weeks. I can’t go that long without talking,” he whines. 

I would mock him for wanting to speak considering that’s the thing he's the worst at, but I don’t think that’s strictly true. It’s better to err on the side of caution when stating facts right now.

“Fine. Feel free to talk to yourself,” I tell him and turn back to my laptop.

He growls and falls back onto his pillow.

I go back to taking my fifth Buzzfeed quiz of the day. (Apparently my personality flavor is sour, I was “meant to be with” Ron Weasly, my deepest fear is snakes, and I am a horse).

I finish the quiz and it turns out I can see the color red really well. I got ten out of ten. I wonder if it’s a vampire thing. 

I hear Snow grumble and look over to see him taking off his shirt. All he has on are his trackie bottoms. It’s not common to see the constellations of freckles on his back in the daylight. I long to know what they feel like under my fingertips. 

He goes to the foot of the bed and starts doing sit ups. He doesn’t really have abs but there’s a faint hint of them beneath his skin. It’s enough to make me forget to breathe for a moment. 

I long to sit on top of him and see those abdominal muscles curl as he sits up to kiss me. 

I realize I’m staring, and snap, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m doing the recommended exercises,” he says, sounding frustrated.

“It didn’t say anything about getting undressed on the recommendation sheets.”

He gives me an exasperated look. He probably thinks I’m just looking for something to complain about. I wish it was as simple as that. But I don’t think I can survive being trapped in a room with a shirtless Snow. 

I don’t think I can survive being trapped in a room with Snow full stop. 

“You should probably do these too. You don’t wanna get out of shape for football,” he says. 

“I don’t think three days is going to make a difference,” I say, trying to dismiss him. 

“It could be longer. They didn’t actually say. All they said is symptoms usually last two or three days. But they didn’t say anything about how long you’re still contagious for. We could be here a while.”

I huff. I already have to hold myself back while I play, so even if this did get me out of shape, it wouldn’t make a lot of difference. But Snow can’t know that, so I say, “Fine,” and get out of bed. 

“Good. Some of these I can’t do alone,” he says. 

“Like what?” 

“Arm pushes and pulls.”

He reaches for my hand and I jerk it away.

“What are you doing?” I demand. 

“Let me show you,” he says, and reaches for my hand again.

I let him grab my hand and interlace our fingers. I want to pull my hand away and insist we do individual exercises. But I’m weak and his skin is warm against my hand. Crowly. Is he this warm everywhere else too? Where is he the warmest?

Thank snakes he starts talking before my mind has a chance to go down that gutter of a rabbit hole. 

“Okay. So we hold the hands in the middle and we take turns pushing our hands to each other, while the other one gives as much resistance as they can without stopping the hand,” he explains. 

He pushes my hand back, and I consider not giving him an inch as he presses. But I can’t let it be known how easy this is for me. So I slowly let him push his arm to me, giving him resistance.

Then I push on his hand. I push hard enough to make him struggle to give me resistance but not so hard he can’t do it at all. 

This quarantine might be the death of me for so many reasons. But I never thought I’d get a chance to hold hands with a half dressed Simon Snow. But still, this is definitely more of a curse than a blessing.

We take turns doing the arm pushes, then switch arms and do more. 

It’s a little hard to know where to look. As much as I’d like to look into his eyes, I think he would interpret it as a stare-down. Which, under different circumstances, I might enjoy. But since he can’t leave, he might be daft enough to attack me in the room. And I’m not going to let the anathema deprive me of my last year with him.

By the time we start doing arm pulls, which is the same thing but pulling instead of pushing, I have cleverly figured out I can just stare at our hands.

Snow is starting to breathe a little harder and it’s filling my head with impure thoughts. I need to think about something else. Anything else. 

I try to push the thought of what his breath would feel like against my ear out of my head but I can’t. Is this a fetish? This is a concept I’ve never considered before. 

“Baz, if you squeeze my hand any harder, the anathema is going to throw you out,” he complains. 

I don’t have time to formulate a strictly factual response fast enough so I just let go and roll my eyes. I suppress the urge to swallow as the seconds of silence feels like hours. 

“I’ll hold your feet while you do sit ups then you can do me.”

I use all the self control I have to look stoic at Snow telling me I can do him, and try to casually drop to the ground. 

Snow falls to his knees, which is something I’ve imagined far too many times. 

Every second of being stuck in this room with him just gets worse and worse. I should have just refused to respond to anything he said and remained silent throughout the whole quarantine. If I can’t get my mind off this subject, this is going to become a problem. A very noticeable physical problem.

I lay back and try to think about the queen, then Snow puts his hands on my knees. He puts _his hands_ on _my knees_. He said feet. Not knees. 

I’m afraid if I speak, gibberish will come out so I just pretend I didn’t notice and start doing sit ups. 

The only places for me to look are his hands, his bare chest, or his face. 

And of course, even though he could look anywhere, he’s just staring at me with his mouth open. So my gaze isn’t going to go unnoticed. 

“Mouth-breather,” I say and glare at him. 

He growls and his grip on my knees tightens. 

I would tell him to loosen his grip before the anathema throws _him_ out but unfortunately having Snow be rough with me in our bedroom is apparently too much for me to handle and I can’t sit up. 

Is this swooning? 

“I think I’m done,” I say as matter-of-factly as I can. 

“Okay,” he says, then lays back. 

Fuck. I still have to help him do his sit ups. 

I use far more effort than I should need to sit up then I hold his feet. 

He starts doing sit ups and I try my best to let my eyes idly go over the room. 

But then his breathing gets heavy again, making my pulse quicken. 

_Just think about the queen and all her corgis._

Before I know it, he’s making obscene grunting sounds. I can’t help but glance down. As he sits up, I can’t help but savor the sight of his abdominal muscles. 

When he lays back down, my eyes accidentally catch his and I can’t look away. He doesn't break eye contact as he sits back up and I can’t help but imagine him leaning forward to kiss me as he does so. 

I feel my hands begin to shake so I let go of his feet. 

I need to insult him or something. Anything to excuse myself from this horrendous situation, but it has to be passably factual. 

“I’m bored,” I say in a surprisingly steady voice. 

“But we’ve just started,” he says. 

I ignore him, get up and sit back down on my bed, and try to covertly adjust the tightness in my trousers. 

He groans, which makes my ears feel hot, rolls over and starts doing push ups. 

It doesn’t help that I didn’t feed last night. My mind and body are never as obedient when I haven’t fed. 

I tried to go last night when I thought Snow was asleep, but as soon as I turned the doorknob Snow simply said, “You can’t go out. We’re quarantined.” 

He must have been half asleep because he didn’t accuse me of anything or ask any questions. That or maybe he was emotionally exhausted after his break up. Or both. 

But there’s no way I can go more than a few days without feeding. Especially not while I’m stuck in a room with a tantalizing moron, who’s currently on the ground making sounds I don’t know how to describe as anything other than pornographic. 

I have one idea on how to escape tonight. It’s not the most creative idea I’ve ever had, but I think it could work. 

I happen to have a few bottles of liquor in my wardrobe and I don’t think Snow has ever drank before. If I can figure out a way to get him to drink tonight, I think I can slip out unnoticed. 

His grunting continues as he does Crowley-knows-what on the floor, threatening what remains of my sanity. 

I can’t even bring myself to do another Buzzfeed quiz. All I can do is stare at my computer unblinkingly. 

After what feels like an eternity, but was most likely about fifteen minutes, he finally gets out some clean clothes and goes to take a shower. 

I finally relax, and lean back, letting my head hit the headboard behind me. When I close my eyes, I can still see the brightness of the computer etched into my vision. I’ve been on the laptop since I woke up. 

With few other options, I close my laptop, and get out some paper. I begin folding the sheets into origami butterflies. It’s been a long time since I’ve made one, but I still remember how. My stepmother taught me before I was old enough to go to Watford. When life was more simple, before I met the bane of my existence and secret love of my life. 

I’ve made about six before Simon comes up, dripping wet and still shirtless. 

My brain must short circuit because I can’t seem to say anything as he walks up to me. 

Then he picks one up, getting it and the surrounding ones wet. 

“Snow, you-” Fuck, I almost called him a numpty, which is definitely not literally true. 

“You’re ruining them! Did you forget how to use a towel?” I snap. (Questions are safe to say out loud. A question can be misleading but it can’t be a lie.) 

“Sorry,” he says quickly and sets it down. “I just figured I didn’t need to dry off because I’m not going anywhere.” 

I open my mouth to say, “unbelievable,” but close it before I do, because this is honestly believable. 

“Did you magic these?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Can you show me how to make them?” he asks. 

I roll my eyes, but I do need to start some sort of dialog with him if I plan to get him drunk, so I say, “If you dry off and put on a shirt, I will show you.”

He smiles at me, which should be a crime, before getting a shirt and going back into the bathroom. Since when does he smile at me? If the Geneva convention covered rules pertaining to my feud with Snow, it would definitely have rules about this. It feels like a war crime. It’s unfair. 

While he’s gone, there’s a knock at the door, meaning dinner has arrived. The protocol is to wait a moment for whoever brings the dinner trays to leave, so that’s what I do, then open the door, pick up my tray and bring it to my desk.

I would prefer to eat more elegantly, but Snow could come out at any moment and I don’t want him to see me eat, so I scarf down some roast beef like Snow does even when he has all the time in the world to eat.

Snow comes out right after I swallow my fifth bite, and I use my hand to cover my mouth while I wait for my fangs to retract.

“You could have brought in my tray, he complains,” as he picks it up and brings it to his bed. 

I say nothing because the only excuse why I couldn’t do that that would sound honest other than the truth would be that I did it to spite him. And I need to be friendly enough with him to get him drunk. Also I don’t want him to hear the lisp my fangs give me. 

I drink the juice on the tray to wash out the roast beef taste so my fangs will retract. It’s disgustingly sweet, which is helpful. Sweet things help curb my cravings, but I still have to swish the juice around in my mouth to get rid of the roast beef taste. 

Once they finally retract, I turn to look at him and he’s eating on his bed like a savage.

“You have a desk, you know,” I tell him, as I go back to my bed to sit.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t do the same thing with your salt and vinegar crisps.”

I sneer because I can’t deny it now. I suppose it’s not that important anyway. At least I have an excuse though. I can’t eat in front of people.

I go back to making my origami butterflies, and I’ve made a few more before Snow sits on my bed. 

“Why are you on my bed?” I ask in annoyance. This beautiful idiot has no boundaries.

“Because I wanted to be,” he says then he looks a bit confused and adds, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, so I ignore it. I hand him a sheet of paper and walk him through the steps to make the butterfly. 

The first one he does, while watching me make one comes out looking okay. But as he starts doing them from memory they come out looking a bit misshapen. 

“Why do you know how to make these?” he asks. 

“My stepmother taught me a long time ago,” I say. 

“But isn’t this a Normal thing?” 

“It was part of a magic lesson,” I explain then get out my wand. 

I cast, “ **_Flutter By!_ **” and all of the origami butterflies, even Snow’s misshapen ones, start gently flying around the room. 

He smiles like he hasn’t seen something so wonderful before. Quarantine must really be getting to him because he sees more magic in class regularly. 

“They’re beautiful,” he says, and holds out a finger for one of mine to land on. 

When it does, he smiles with delight at me. I stare back at him having no idea how to react to this. 

Maybe honesty isn’t the only symptom of Veritas. It’s like he’s forgotten we’re supposed to despise each other. 

The butterfly on his finger flaps its wings and Simon winces in pain and inhales sharply. I smell the blood before I see it. It’s just a small paper cut but it’s enough to make my mouth water and the gums near my fangs itch. 

I quickly cast, “ **_Dead in the air!_ ** ” then “ **_Get well soon!_ **” on his hand. 

All the butterflies drop to the floor then he says, “Thanks, but that wasn’t necessary.” 

“It would have been a waste of magic fixing all the damage they cause,” I say, hoping that sounds factual enough to not rouse suspicion. 

“I don’t know if it would have been a waste,” he mumbles, then picks up a stack of paper.

He goes back to his own bed and starts trying to make more. I’m very concerned he’ll cut himself again, but I can’t think of a believably true reason for him to stop.

I sigh and open my laptop seriously considering googling, “how to casually bring up playing a drinking game with my roommate/crush/enemy,” but somehow I doubt there’s a Wikihow for that. 

I open my email and start deleting old ones. It’s been a while since I’ve organized this. I make folders for school emails I want to save and family emails. 

Snow starts growling at the butterflies. I glance over and see they’re somehow getting worse with each attempt. It’s like he’s forgotten steps and trying new things to get it right again but the new steps are completely wrong, leading to the later steps not working. 

I unsubscribe to all the various spam emails I get and try to ignore the bestial sounds coming from him that should be annoying but actually excites me because I’m disturbed. 

Eventually he just starts balling up the paper and throwing it in the rubbish bin. He has terrible aim. Only half the shots make it in, leaving the floor cluttered. 

I sigh because I still can’t think of a natural way to ease this into a conversation (I’m not sure if a conversation with him could be natural), and ask, “Are you really that bored?”

“Yes,” he groans. 

Doing my best to not get hung up on how much I like hearing him groan, I just go for it and ask, “Do you want to play a drinking game?”

“A drinking game? Do you have alcohol?” he asks, sounding surprised, which is odd because he did catch me drinking once in the catacombs. 

“I do,” I say. 

“What’s the game?” he asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Do you know the game Never Have I Ever?” I ask. 

“I’ve heard of it but I don’t actually know how it works,” he says, sounding a little self conscious. 

I don’t mock him because I don’t want him to get frustrated and not play. “We take turns stating something they’ve never done. If the other one has done it, they take a drink.”

“How do we start?” he asks nervously. 

I close my laptop, get out of bed and fish out a couple bottles of liquor from my wardrobe. A bottle of scotch and a bottle of Jägermeister. When I turn around, Snow is suspiciously not staring at where I was keeping these and seems to suddenly find everything other than my wardrobe very interesting. 

I walk to his bed, hold out the bottles and say, “pick.” 

He clearly has no idea what either of these are, but he hesitantly takes the Jäger from me. 

I sit on my bed and ask, “Do you like black licorice?” 

“No.”

“Perfect. You’re going to hate it.”

He glares at me and I say, “Never have I ever killed a dragon.”

His glare intensifies, but he doesn’t move. 

“Have you?” I ask him.

“You know I have,” he says. 

“Then you have to take a drink,” I explain. 

He takes the cap off and takes a sip, then his expression sours even more. 

“This is horrible,” he complains. 

“Your turn,” I remind him. 

“Oh, umm. I have never pushed someone down the stairs.”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘never have I ever,’” I explain to him. 

“But you have done that,” he says. 

I didn’t push him down the stairs. We were fighting and I happened to get a good punch in, and it caused him to fall down a set of stairs. I did not push him. But I’m happy to take credit for it, so I open the bottle of scotch and take a drink.

“Never have I ever stalked someone,” I say.

Snow glares at me as if that isn’t fair and takes a drink. He makes a face unintentionally, still hating the taste. He’ll probably get used to it soon. 

“I have plotted before,” Snow says, then looks confused. 

“It’s the virus,” I explain. “To plot is a very broad term. You could have plotted to surprise someone on their birthday or something. Try being more specific.” 

“Never have I ever plotted something evil,” he says carefully. 

I sigh and say, “Do you think evil people believe they are doing evil? Good and evil are subjective.”

He doesn’t say anything, still waiting to see if I drink. I suppose I can admit to this and cite spelling his laptop closed as my evil plot if necessary. It’ll probably be more suspicious if I don’t drink.

I take a drink and say, “Never have I ever eaten butter on it’s own.”

Snow grumbles and says, “This isn’t fair. You’re just saying stuff you know I’ve done,” then takes a drink. 

He’s right. This game is supposed to be more probing. It’s usually not supposed to solely be a means to get the other person drunk. Half the fun is supposed to be getting to know each other. He might not play if he’s not having fun. 

I nod in agreement and he says, “Never have I ever drank more than twice.”

“I thought we weren’t going to make statements about things we already know,” I say. 

“I know you’re drinking now, and I know you drank once in the catacombs, but other than that I have no idea.”

I take a drink. I don’t drink often but it has been more than twice. 

Okay. What is something slightly embarrassing I can ask? I don’t want to know if he’s ever had sex and I’m not going to pretend to be straight to find out if he’s ever had a gay thought. 

“Never have I ever gone commando,” I say. 

Snow turns a bit pink and takes a drink. 

I swallow at the thought. I didn’t think the concept of this would be a turn on for me, but I’m learning all sorts of new and horrible things today. 

“Never have I ever had sex,” Snow says nervously. 

So much for not wanting to know about that. But I supposed that is the preferable answer. The idea of him and Wellbelove… I don’t know if it makes me feel sick or depressed. Maybe somewhere in between. 

“Never have I ever chipped a tooth,” I say. 

Snow blinks away his surprise at me not drinking before taking a drink. 

“Never have I ever gotten or given a hickey,” he says.

Is he just venting all his disappointments about his failed relationship now? I mean, this is in a weird way a relief to hear, but I can’t help but pity him a little. I would be distraught if I dated him and never got to do that. 

I would drink just to throw him off from the truth. But I don’t really feel like lying now unless I need to. So I don’t. 

“Never have I ever kissed someone,” I accidentally admit. The fact I haven’t fed recently and the alcohol is making it hard to focus. 

He looks surprised but takes a drink. At least it’s getting me a step closer to getting him drunk. 

“I have had feelings for someone other than Agatha,” he says, then looks at me with crazy eyes.

What the fuck?

“That’s not- I meant- I have feelings for someone else! What? No!” he panics, and continues, “What I’m saying is, I don’t not have feelings for anyone else. This is the truth! What? Why am I saying these things? They are true! No!”

“Snow,” I say, trying to interrupt this meltdown.

“I don’t think the alcohol is changing the symptoms!” he growls, then says, “That’s not what I mean!”

“You think the alcohol is making you lie instead of tell the truth,” I state for him.

He nods. 

I highly doubt that’s what’s happening considering he was able to say “That’s not what I mean,” truthfully. 

“Do you want to play something else?” I offer. It might be easier to get him drunk if we play something that involves dexterity anyways.

“Can we just drink?” he asks.

“Sure.” Even better. 

He starts guzzling the liquor. This is going to be so much easier than I thought. 

He stops and says, “If I’m going to drink, you have to too.”

I’m careful that the disappointment of having to drink too doesn’t show on my face as I start taking a few gulps of the scotch. He stares at me, waiting for me to drink more, so I do. 

Then he goes back to drinking and stops every time I stop.

Before I know it, the room feels like it’s tilting and I feel hot everywhere despite having not fed recently. 

I don’t think I’ve ever drank this much before. Everything feels blurry.

I stand up and almost fall right over. Snow gets up to steady me. I catch a whiff of him and he smells so enticing, and I’m so hungry. 

When I feel my fangs start to come out, I cover my mouth with my hand and stumble toward the bathroom. 

“You alright?” Snow asks, in concern.

When I’m in, I slam the door behind me. 

I don’t know if I’m going to be sick, or if I just need to be away from Snow right now. Maybe both. 

I suddenly feel very tired, and the floor looks oddly comfortable. 

There’s a few knocks followed by, “Baz?”

* * * 

My arm hurts. I roll over onto more of the hard surface. 

This isn’t my bed. 

I open my eyes and realize I’m still in the bathroom. 

Fuck. I didn’t feed last night. I feel the void in my stomach pull at my insides. I feel ravenous.

Maybe it’s still early. Maybe I can still sneak out. Maybe there’s still a chance. 

I get up and slowly open the bathroom door and see Snow sitting on the edge of his bed like he’s been waiting for me. 

“I didn’t think you died,” he says, then winces at having misspoke. 

“I tried to say, ‘I thought maybe you died,’ but that wasn’t true,” he explains. 

I go to my bed and he goes into the bathroom. 

The sunlight is stinging my skin but I feel too tired to close the curtains. I just get in bed and pull the covers over my head, completely encasing me. 

I need a new plan. And fast.

After a moment I hear the bathroom door open, then Snow says, “Baz?” 

I say nothing. I have nothing to say. 

“Baz, are you alright?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

“You don’t seem alright.” 

I ignore him. 

“Come out,” he demands. 

I ignore him.

“Please come out,” he politely demands. 

I ignore him. I just need to think of a way out of here without him knowing. 

“Are you going to be under there all day?” he asks. 

“Why do you even care?” I finally reply, getting annoyed. 

“I like to look at you.”

_What?_

“... What?” I ask.

“I- I just meant, I like being around you.”

I poke my head out from under the covers and see he’s blushing and looks horrified. 

“I’m just feeling a little bit lonely, _and that’s not all I meant by that,_ ” he compulsively says. 

“I don’t understand why I’m saying these things,” he answers honestly, sounding upset.

Hmm. If Snow cries, he might lock himself in the bathroom to get away from me, and I could slip out without him knowing. 

“You should get used to feeling lonely. I can’t fathom why anyone would ever fancy you,” I tell him with a hint of malice. 

Snow freezes for a moment. Then his face contorts as all the implications, of me saying this with Veritas, catch up to him. 

I don’t let my face reveal how much seeing him like this hurts me. I think this hurts me more than him because I know it’s my fault and I know one day he’ll get over this and I never will. 

He goes to his bed, climbs on, and clutches his legs, burying his face in his knees. 

So much for locking himself in the bathroom. 

At first I think he’s just angry, but then he starts sobbing quietly. 

Fuck me. This is going exceedingly horrible. Now I am unable to feed, which I desperately need to do, and I’m stuck in a room with the boy I love crying. This is a nightmare. 

I can’t even comfort him. If I tell him I didn’t mean it, he’ll know it was a lie. 

Every sob I hear feels like someone is squeezing my heart painfully hard. 

After what feels like hours but is probably more like seconds, I snap and say, “Stop crying. You’re making my headache worse.”

“Your headache?” he asks, sounding confused. 

“Yes. From all the drinking last night.” It’s believable to be hungover after drinking that much. 

He stops crying, letting his knees fall, and says, “When I asked if you were alright, you said yes.”

“Well, I meant-”

“You can lie!” he nearly shouts. 

“No, I didn’t-”

“That means anything you’ve said since the start of quarantine could be a lie. You could be a vampire!” he says, talking faster and faster as he gets up and towers over me.

“No-”

“You are a vampire! That’s why you don’t have Veritas in the first place! That’s why you’ve been trying to sneak out this whole time!” 

_Fuck me._

I don’t think I can lie myself out of this. 

“You can’t tell anyone…” I say quietly. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” he yells. 

“If people knew, they wouldn’t let me live.”

He looks like that doesn’t matter to him. But after a moment, his face falls. He must be realizing I’m right. 

He takes a deep breath then falls back onto his bed. He runs a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe these new facts off it. 

He sits up and asks, “Do you kill people?”

“Never.”

“Just rats and stuff?”

“And an occasional deer,” I add. 

“Okay,” is all he says. 

He just sits there, so I ask, “Do you believe me?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. He has Veritas so it must be true... 

“Thank you.”

“So. You being nice and trying to get me drunk yesterday… That was just so you could leave to find some rats or something?” he asks. 

He looks so disappointed. 

I’ve already confessed one secret now. That’s more than enough. I should just say yes and let it be. 

“What did you think that was?” I ask tentatively, instead. 

He shrugs. 

Last night when he kept accidentally saying he had feelings for someone else, I just assumed it was just another girl that would be tormenting me for the next year. That’s probably all it was… He probably just thought we were becoming friends. 

I feel my gums itch where my fangs want to come out. It’s hard to focus when I’m this hungry. This conversation can wait. Indefinitely, I suppose. 

I get up and head to the door, then Snow says, “Stop.”

“I have to feed.”

“It’s daylight. If anyone sees you, they’ll know you left during quarantine and they’ll want to know why,” he says.

“I can’t wait any longer. It’s dangerous,” I try to explain.

“Just wait,” he says then goes to the window and opens it. 

He takes out his wand and says, “ **_A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!_ **” and a bird flies right into his hand. (I guess he does have a brain somewhere in that thick skull).

He hands it to me and my fangs come out immediately. 

Without hesitation I rush into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I snap the bird's neck and drink it’s blood. 

It feels so good. Warmth rushes into me and my stomach stops feeling like it’s trying to devour itself.

But it’s not enough. I need more. More than just one. I have an idea but my fangs won’t retract and I can't cast like this.

“Thimon,” I call through the door with the lisp my fangs give. 

“Yeah?” 

“Have you theen Thnow White?” I ask. I feel fucking ridiculous.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you remember the thong A Thmile and a Thong? The one thhe things to the animalth.” (I loathe this lisp).

“I think so,” he says. 

Thank snakes, he can understand what I’m saying.

“I think if you catht it you can attract more. I need more.”

“Can you remind me how it goes?” he asks. 

I cringe at the thought of singing with a lisp but I don’t have many options, so I sing. 

“ _With a thmile and a thong_

 _Life ith jutht a bright thunny day._ ”

At least I don’t hear Snow laughing. 

“ _Your careth fade away_

 _And your heart ith young._ ”

“Uhh, Baz?” He asks, against the door. 

“What?”

“I can’t sing well.”

“Jutht try,” I tell him. 

I hear him walk to the window. He clears his throat then starts singing. He doesn’t have perfect pitch or anything, but his voice still sounds beautiful to me. 

He goes silent for a minute then says, “Baz? Help!”

I walk out to see he has an arm full of squirrels and birds. I didn’t expect it to work this well. I guess being The Mage’s heir is similar enough to being a Disney princess to give the spell a boost. 

I gather all the unsuspecting critters into my arms and take them into the bathroom.

“Can I watch?” he asks from the other side of the door. 

I ignore him and deal with all the animals. 

When I’m done I dispose of all the bodies, removing all evidence of the slaughter that happened here, and brush my teeth for a good ten minutes before I come back out, feeling much better. 

Simon is sitting on my bed and I sit next to him feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time. 

“When we played Never Have I Ever, was everything you said a lie?” he asks. 

I shake my head. I owe him my life and my sanity so the least I can do is be more honest with him now. 

“Everything I said was true.. Well. I lied about having pushed you down the stairs,” I say. 

He glares at me. 

“I mean it. It was an accident. I just never denied it when people assumed it was intentional,” I explain. 

He looks at me incredulously and asks, “Will you **swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?** ”

If I cast that on myself, it would be no different than if I actually had Veritas. I would be compelled to tell the truth. Everything I’m saying is already true, but I could slip and accidentally tell him how I feel about him. 

“Well?” he asks impatiently. 

I should refuse. But after everything he’s done for me… Plus it would be bad for him to still be suspicious of me now that he knows for certain that I’m a vampire. 

I sigh, knowing this is a mistake, take out my wand and say, “ **_I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!_ **”

He stares at me in surprise, and I have to remind him, “Ask your questions.”

“Did you push me down the stairs?” he asks. 

“No. I got a good punch in and we happened to be at the top of the stairs.”

“I really thought you were taking the piss with that. Why didn’t you deny it?” he asks. 

“I want people to think I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me?” 

I could choose not to answer and let him make of that what he will. But I’m a constant disappointment to myself, so I say, “No.”

He looks a bit nervous and asks, “Do you like me?” 

“No.” _I love you._

He looks disappointed. More than disappointed. He looks like he’s devastated and trying to hide it. But he’s doing a shit job. 

“Why do you care?” I ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately. He’s either trying to avoid the question or trying to figure out a safe way to answer it.

“I didn’t think I would… But yesterday I had all these confusing thoughts. It doesn't matter now, anyways.”

Last night he said he had feelings for someone else. And now he cares about whether or not I like him. That has to be coincidence.

But what if it’s not?

My mouth opens before I even realize what I’m doing and I ask, “May I kiss you?”

His eyes go wide and he breathes, “yes.” 

I press my lips to his, not really sure of what I’m doing. I consider pulling back, but then he puts a hand on the back of my head, kissing me back. 

My jaw drops from the shock that this is happening and before I know it, Simon Snows tongue enters my mouth and if it weren’t for the hand on the back of my head, I think I would have swooned. 

His mouth is so warm and inviting, I can’t help but push my tongue in too. The sensations are making my whole body quiver and I feel like I might melt into him at any moment. 

He pulls back and I use all my self control not to whine. 

“Was that a good first kiss?” he asks nervously.  
  
The fact that he remembers that I said I’ve never kissed before makes my heart throb. 

“It was excellent.” 

He moves forward and quickly licks my lips, then leans back. It’s awkward and unbelievably sexy. We stare at each other for a moment we both lean in and start making out. I don’t know if I’m doing it right but it feels too good to care. I’m so into it that I didn’t notice he had interlaced our fingers with his free hand until after he’s done it. 

I break away and ask, “So, you’ve never given or gotten a hickey?”

Simon shakes his head and I say, “We’re going to be stuck in quarantine for a while with not much to do. Do you want to make a list of things we’ve never done but want to and work our way through it?”

“Yes. Are we boyfriends now?” he asks. 

“I hope so.”

He gives me a smile that would kill me if I weren’t already dead.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) Thank you to Harry and Ari for helping.
> 
> 2.) Like always: totally intentional word count. Sixty-nine, dude!


End file.
